


White noise and colourful silence

by sorryiapologizesomuch17



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Mutual Pining, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Season/Series 06 Speculation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-07-27 18:59:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16225307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorryiapologizesomuch17/pseuds/sorryiapologizesomuch17
Summary: ‘We’re happy.’ And even as he says it he knows its just a pitiful attempt to keep things from changing. As if its a desperate effort to hang onto something safe. Something he knows he’s not truly invested in. Something he knows can’t hurt him the way that other things, or namely, other people can. And have. ‘Echo and I’- he pauses, not knowing who he’s even fighting at this point.‘We’re- happy.’‘Sure. But not as much as you could be.’ The man says. ‘Not as much as you’ve convinced yourself you were all these years.’ He shakes his head as if he’s wrong, but knows, deep down, its just for show. He’s tired now. Running out of fight faster than he has in any actual battle.‘I can tell you’re trying to force it, you know? That you think that if you put up a good enough show, if you look enough in love, you’ll believe that you truly are. Like you’re just going through the notions. Like relationships have a script.’When Bellamy looks away his eyes find Clarke’s. He hates how much of sucker he is for her. How his body just reacts to her like that. After all these years. He hates how unscripted it is.Murphy sees Bellamy brooding and decides to help out.





	1. Sat by the river (and it made me complete)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toomuchtroubletbh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomuchtroubletbh/gifts).



It’s half an hour before anybody finds him. Half tucked away, concealed by the shadows of large trees that overhang the clearing, left side facing the vast expanse of water, that begins to lap up at the battered log he’s perched on, whenever the current can get close enough to strike. He’s digging his grubby fingernails into the palm of his left hand, head hung slightly, in a way that may look like he’s immersed in his own little world, if anybody were to notice him, but in reality the image of Clarke mirroring his exact position over by the fire, her entire body glowing a soft ember colour, a fair distance away from him, dances around in his peripheral vision. And that’s how Murphy finds him.

Moping.

The man sits next to him without muttering so much as a hello, and he has to rearrange himself on the log to adjust to the new added weight. He looks up and offers him a brief closed lip, half smile, in a way that looks like he’s making eye contact, but really isn’t, to which he ignores as he breathes out the words, as if the conversation he’s about to start has already exhausted him to the limits.

‘What are you going to do?’

Bellamy looks back up at that, he can feel his forehead tense up in in an effort to furrow his brow, finding his head moving left to right in a subtle shake.

‘What am I going to do about _what?’_

 

Murphy turns his attention back the scene before them. Echo has sat next to Clarke again now, having returned from what seemed like a less than riveting conversation with Jackson. It’s a respectable and somehow, noticeably awkward distance, even from where they’re sitting, and a small part inside of him can’t help but wince. Neither of them even attempt to make conversation and if he’s honest? He wishes they wouldn’t.

Maybe he’s imagining it.

Murphy, completely oblivious to the other mans inner turmoil, nods his head in a gesturing fashion towards the two, as if his thoughts weren’t already occupied enough with them.

Oh. _He knows_.

Bellamy lets out a large breath, it escapes from his lungs without his knowledge of how it all got stuck in there in the first place. This is _fine_. At least he doesn’t have to struggle alone now. It’s not like he can talk to _Clarke_ about it. Despite his temporary relief, actually _admitting_ it, is another feat entirely. It goes silent for few seconds as he struggles to come up with an excuse, maybe even in defence of himself. An internal battle between wanting to vent until the weight of it feels like its being lifted off of his chest and wanting to ignore the mans prying nature, and convince him that he’s imagining things, rages on inside of him. Maybe if he does a good job at the latter, it would work on himself.

‘Do you want me to ask again, or’-, he trails off.

Looking back up, ahead of them, he can both avoid eye contact with Murphy and suffer with the image of the two girls, sat there, uncomfortable and positively strained, because of him. Double whammy.

He takes a deep breath, enough air in his lungs now that when he speaks again, the first part of it sounds strained and higher in pitch than normal.

‘Echo is my girlfriend, Murphy.’ He jabs his fingernail a little harder into his palm and when he looks down, it looks almost bruised. A small dent that reminds him of a crescent moon. ‘I made promises to her.’

‘That was long before you knew you could keep them.’ When he looks back up at the guy beside him, theres an ease to his features, so much so that you’d think they were just- talking about the weather. And not discussing the depressing reality of Bellamy’s love life.  
His shoulders were slung forwards, his forearms resting on his thighs and to almost anybody else it would seem as if he didn’t care. That this was just a way for him to kill some time between the next disaster. To snoop into everybody’s business more than he already does. But theres a tiny bit of, almost, _empathy_ in his eyes and he can tell that thats all just a front.

‘Look, Bellamy.’ His voice is softer now, more understanding. ‘You’re not in the wrong here.’ Bellamy forces himself to keep looking at him. ‘No one is. You had no idea that she was alive down there’-.

He doesn’t let him finish.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ His eyes are closed now. As if he could stop the world from moving around him if he couldn’t see it happen for himself . He shakes his head again. ‘I still made those promises. I can’t just’-.

He breaks off again not even sure where he could end up If he went down that path.

‘I’m not that kind of guy.’ There’s an air of finality to his words, yet a part of him wants to keep talking, wants to be _persuaded_. He wishes that that part of him would leave him the fuck alone.

‘So you’re just going to stay being this miserable?’ He’d almost forgotten Murphy was there.  
‘Is that what you’re going to do?’ He raises an eyebrow, incredulous. ‘And I’m just gonna have to keep watching the the two of you moping arou’-

‘We’re not _moping_.’

‘You’re moping.’

Bellamy scoffs.

‘And you know why you are? Because you love one another, Bellamy’. Since when was making eye contact so difficult?

‘I think you fell for one another long before either of you noticed it. Long before either of you engaged in this whole’- He waves his hands around in the air, noncommittal. “I’m going to ignore my feelings _more_ ’ tournament, which, by the way, you both suck at.’ That makes him laugh. ‘Seriously. I think _I_ noticed before you both and I was parading around in the woods hitting on Emori for the majority of our time on earth’.

‘Moping is what people in love _do_. It’s on the sign up sheet. ‘To apply for this privilege you must be willing to mope’. He’s suddenly grateful for his friends company. Not that he’d admit that.

‘And watching you two pine after one another is driving me, and everybody else in the general vicinity, insane. Including Echo’-

‘What?’ He almost chokes.

‘She’s not as blind as you think she is’.

A sharp stabbing pain intrudes his gut and a cocktail of what could be a mix between guilt and dread and at least several other emotions, invade him, emerging from the pit of his stomach and spreading over his chest until they settle in his throat. Great, so he’s cheating on his girlfriend already, without actually cheating on her. And she _knows_. Is that thing? Can you cheat on somebody emotionally? And what about _Clarke_.

He wishes for a weird brief second, that he was in love with somebody else. And that he knew with complete certainty that Clarke wasn’t into _him_. And that things weren’t so weird between them now. So he could talk to her about all this. But then that train of thought leads him into thinking that perhaps he wants to talk to the _old_ Clarke. The Clarke he knew before Praimfaya. _His_ Clarke. And that he wishes she had just made it to space like she was supposed to. Like he thought she would. And then he cant imagine a reality where he doesn’t fall in love with her, nor one where being up in space with her could have ended any other way than them being together. Or of one where those feelings actually slip away. Everything would have been so different if he’d just _waited_. Just a few more minutes.

But then maybe they’d all be dead now. So what does he know? The universe is cruel.

‘We’re happy.’ And even as he says it he knows its just a pitiful attempt to keep things from changing. As if its a desperate effort to hang onto something safe. Something he knows he’s not truly invested in. Something he knows can’t hurt him the way that other things, or namely, other people can. And have. ‘Echo and I’- he pauses, not knowing who he’s even fighting at this point.  
‘We’re- happy.’

‘Sure. But not as much as you could be.’ The man says. ‘Not as much as you’ve convinced yourself you were all these years.’ He shakes his head as if he’s wrong, but knows, deep down, its just for show. He’s tired now. Running out of fight faster than he has in any actual battle.

‘I can tell you’re trying to force it, you know? That you think that if you put up a good enough show, if you look enough in love, you’ll believe that you truly are. Like you’re just going through the notions. Like relationships have a script.’

When Bellamy looks away his eyes find Clarke’s. For a second its like he’s forgotten how to breathe. He doesn’t understand how she noticed him, from all the way over there, even through the smoke from the dimming fire. He hopes she doesn’t know what they’re talking about. This would be a really bad time for her to be able to read him. She looks shy and about as shocked as him for a fleeting moment, when their eyes first meet, but then smiles at him and nods, its awkward for a second before his mind wanders to how much easier this would all be if he just _gave in_. He hates how much of sucker he is for her. How his body just _reacts_ to her like that. After all these years. He hates how _unscripted_ it is.

 

Jordan is sat next to her now, beaming and animated in his words, whatever they are, and Miller next to- _Echo_. Crap, _Echo_. You still have a girlfriend you absolute, _Idiot_.

‘It’s not doing anybody any good, Bellamy.’ Bellamy has to tune back into his voice, like he’s switching back gears. ‘Nobody’s gonna give you an Emmy. If I used that right’- he pauses, trailing off. ‘Doesn’t matter. At the end of the day the person you’re hurting the most? Is _yourself_.’

Bellamy shrugs, about to speak;

‘Yeah, I _know_. You’re some sort of twisted, masochist and all so’-. Bellamy, chuckles despite himself. ‘If you’d rather think of this in terms of other people? Do it for Clarke. She’s miserable.’

Another stabbing pain. Maybe even worse.

‘And Echo- she deserves to know. For sure.’

Bellamy nods, again. Maybe he was developing a new habit. New planet. New habit. Makes sense.

‘And if not for either of them? Dear god, do it for us. It was funny watching both of you be all broody the first time, but now it’s _sad_.’

Bellamy elbows him. He laughs. The _bastard_.

‘You deserve to be genuinely happy, Bellamy. The universe has given you another chance. And I know that you think it’s doing that to torture you some _more_? But you’re the only one that thinks that.’

Bellamy doesn’t know where to look anymore, his brain is short circuiting, so he tries back to his hands. He needs to wash.

‘She might not even feel the same’-

‘Stop. Seriously. If you finish that sentence I’m never pep talking you again.’

‘She left me behind to die in the pit. She left me at Mount Weather, and _again_ when I went to go get her from polis. She could leave me again.’

‘She won’t.’ He says as if he’s never been more sure of anything in his life. Bellamy admires his confidence.

‘She was in love with Finn. And then Lexa’-. Its the first time he’s ever said it out loud. And now he feels exposed. And also maybe like a little kid, arguing every point that his brain can conjure up.

‘Doesn’t mean she never loved you. You can love more than one person at a time, in many different ways.’

‘And what if that way is non-romantically?’

‘It isn’t.’

Bellamy doesn’t want to argue that. Mainly cause he doesn’t want to think too much about him being wrong about _all_ of this.

‘She called me everyday. For six years.’ He says it to his boots, barely more than a whisper.

Murphy groans. The sound so guttural and sudden it almost makes him jump.

‘Are you kidding me? _Seriously_?’ He raises his voice, so much so that Bellamy panics and looks towards the group. None of them had heard.

‘It doesn’t have to mean anything.’

‘It doesn’t. But it does.’

‘What?’

‘Listen to me. Look as your best friend’-

Bellamy cuts him off. ‘Clarkes my best friend.’

‘You’re an asshole.’ Bellamy smiles. ‘As your _best friend_ ’-. He repeats, voice dragging out the syllables, slightly higher in volume. ‘I think it’ll be a whole lot easier if you were all just- honest with another.’ He pauses. ‘Tell her.’ He punctuates.

‘Which one?’ He adds, just to be annoying. He’s kind of glad for Murphy.

‘Clarke, Bellamy. Tell Clarke.’

Bellamy lets it sit there for a second.

‘Actually no wait.’ The man corrects himself. ‘Tell _Echo_ first. Settle things there. And then when we’re absolutely sure she won’t murder you while you _sleep_. _Then_. Then you tell Clarke. Don’t be that guy.’

Bellamy nods, reluctantly. He knows what he has to do. But its gonna hurt like a son of a bitch to actually do it. He doesn’t know when, or how he’ll bring it up, doesn’t want to think about it despite knowing he will anyway. Perhaps he’ll die before he has to. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Plus it’ll make him an asshole. And he doesn’t want to be an asshole.

‘Now can we finish this conversation so I can go back to being anything other than your own personal agony aunt and can we go get a drink?’

The silence settles around them some more and when he looks up he spots Clarke again. She’s glowing as if she’s her own source of light. And then he looks at Echo, he cares about her still, he does. But Murphy’s right. It’s not the same kind of thing.  
Still, the guilt is so much he has to look away.

‘Clarke’s my best friend.’ He says to break the silence. Half playful, but with a little bit of worry seeping through.

‘She stopped being _just_ your best friend a long time ago.’ He pats Bellamy’s shoulder, the one closest to him. Leaving it to rest there for a second. Its kind of comforting. He didn’t ever suspect Murphy could be one to exhibit _comfort_. Sarcasm was much more his forte.

It goes quiet again, but this time he’s thankful for it. Thanks it might last.

That is until Murphy rips his hand away and groans.

‘God, you smell like crap.’

And when he laughs once more, he feels just a little bit lighter. In his head, he starts planning.


	2. No fighting (bad timing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Right.’ His voice has a way of making itself be heard without him having to strain to raise it. ‘This way ladies and gentlemen.’ 
> 
> He exchanges a quick look with the woman next to him, before she propels herself forward. He sees a mass of blonde hair disappear behind the door in front of him and into the darkness. He’s following her before he even instructs his legs to do so.
> 
> Or:  
> Clarke and Bellamy discover new people on the planet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry this one is super short and nothing _really_ happens at least for Bellamy and Clarke _romantically_. Its more for a little more context, and so that it makes the next chapter a lot easier for me. Consider it a filler chapter of sorts. :)
> 
> All mistakes are mine, because I'm an idiot who can't pick up on things. Enjoy!

It had been two days since his chat with Murphy and he hadn’t spoken to neither Clarke nor Echo. But in _his defence_ the morning after they’d been discovered by a group of colourfully clothed, heavily armed, hippy _morons_ , who’d whisked them away, still practically half asleep and dragged them to some, similarly vibrant, quaint little town in the middle of nowhere. _Thirty-four miles away_ , in the middle of nowhere. And his _feet hurt._

The buildings there looked born of scrap parts. He thinks this would have been a great place to play ‘I spy’ with Octavia when she was little. Was that a water bottle dream-catcher? A bathtub that doubles up as a dinner table? _Nice._

 And everything was _dyed,_ like its only purpose is to exhibit _colour._ The further they make it through the street, fighting against the current of curious passer-byes going in the opposite direction, the more his eyes start to burn, the colours mixing together in front of him until he has to keep his eyes trained on the ground as he walks.

 Clarke’s two feet to the right of him, struggling against the crowd, and Echo is behind him, a bit further away. He knows not to turn around, heavily cautious of being barged into by a new, oncoming abundance of sweaty, chromatic strangers.

Where were they all _coming from?_

The rest were behind them somewhere, Murphy, Miller, Jackson, Emori and the new guy. _Shall? Shawn?_ Doesn’t matter. All he can focus on is Clarke, her spine is straight and shoulders held back, to try and make herself seem _bigger,_ but he knows she’s struggling, can see the purple bags under her eyes whenever they can take their eyes off of the path long enough to steal glances at one another. When’s the last time she slept through an entire night? Is she missing Madi?

Ever so often the tips of her boots scuff against the terrain, and that’s how he knows she’s _really_ tired, like the effort to pick her knees up higher is just too much. And even though he, himself is tired, and his own boots have already hacked their fair way trough his socks and into the skin at the backs of his heels, he’d rather pick her up and carry her for god knows how much further, than watch her take another step. They were already nearing the outskirts of the town. Were they even stopping? How much _longer?_

And it’s hot. _Everywhere_. The benefit of having two suns he assumes. He can feel the sweat blanketing his shoulders, dripping down past his spine and into the waistband of his trousers. His face is hot and he knows the tips of his ears are burning but when he looks over at Clarke, he sees her short, cropped hair has done nothing to shield her neck and chest from the full wrath of the sun ( _Suns_?). Its blotchy and red in hue, the back of her neck looking itchy and _sore_ and _when the hell are they going to stop?_

They’d been following some dude in a tatty, refurbished looking leather jacket for the past day and a half, who he supposes is their leader. His hair is a musty brown colour, the sides of it streaked in silver, as if its attempting to overcome the rest of it, in a slow and _subtle_ attack. His beard is patchy and grey and creeps out from under his chin and across his neck, just about tickling his Adams apple. If he had to guess, he assumes he’s around Kane and Abby’s age, but he carries himself differently, like this is all quite amusing and _exciting_ to him, despite the fact that he’s got a pretty secure grip on the weapon in his left hand.

Bellamy is pretty sure he heard one of his minions call him, Russel. He wishes Russel would tell them where he’s _taking them_.

 

They’ve been on their feet for the last 7 hours. It must be at least _noon_ by now. They had stopped off in the woods to get some rest yesterday evening, but even _then_ the strange new group had ignored and pushed away any/and all of their enquiries, telling them to ‘wait until we get to Mcnut, then we’ll talk’, as if they were supposed to know where, what or even _who_ Mcnut was.

 So they had stayed segregated, the hippy clique almost tripling the numbers of their own, the others had prepared and kitted up, with tents that looked like they were fashioned out of technicolour, padded bedsheets and what almost seemed like a _water cooler._ Before they’d fully settled in for the night, the eight of them were given thin, cottony blankets that he’d accepted tentatively but gratefully _._ Maybe these people weren’t _so_ bad.

Bellamy and Clarke had taken alternating shifts watching the others, while their own chased a sleep that never really came.

And then they were woken up, bright and early and dragged another how many miles. Bellamy wishes he’d never have to walk again.

 

When he hears Clarke’s voice, its a volume just for him, and he realises how close they must have swayed towards one another, completely subconsciously, in order for him to actually _hear it_. She’s practically grazing his right arm.

‘We should ask how much further, there’s only so much weight Murphy can put on that leg.’ She shoots him a quick look, a smile that communicates more ‘ _this is a really crappy situation isn’t it?’_ than any actual happiness. ‘None of this walking is exactly speeding up the healing process.’ 

He risks a glance behind him and back at his friend. With every step the man takes he winces, beads of sweat from both the heat and what he assumes is exertion, run down his forehead and drip off of his now heavily stubbled jaw. He can’t do this for much longer.

When he looks back at Clarke she gives him a subtle nod. The kind he sometimes wonders if anybody else other than him would understand.

Before he can turn to face the leader, the man in question comes to an abrupt halt in front of him and he has to lean back onto heels as to not crash into him. He can feel the sores on the backs of his feet bleed more into his socks and he tries not to flinch.

Now that he studies their surroundings again he takes notice to the fact that it’s less crowded where they’ve found themselves. Just the eight of them, Russell's crew and the occasional multi-coloured civilian going about their day.

Russel’s, transparent seeming eyes, scan the group, now facing them all. He’s hardly broken a sweat.

Once he’s obviously decided they’re in the clear, he reaches to the left of himself and pulls open a large door made of what looks like pvc, and holds it ajar.

‘Right.’ His voice has a way of making itself be heard without him having to strain to raise it. ‘This way ladies and gentlemen.’

He exchanges a quick look with the woman next to him, before she propels herself forward. He sees a mass of blonde hair disappear behind the door in front of him and into the darkness. He’s following her before he even instructs his legs to do so.

 

 

_

 

Its dim when they enter the room, a musty smell hanging in the air mixed with something similar to fermenting alcohol. They huddle around, being hurdled in like sheep by the group at the back of them, who have yet to put down their guns, he observes.

One of the skivvies pulls a lever on the wall next to them that triggers the light system to stir to life, moaning with effort as it does so, and that’s when they notice just how _huge_ this place is.  Similar in size to the main dining room back in Arcadia. It had looked so much smaller from the outside.

When he feels a hand slip into his, for a brief, electrifying second he thinks it could be Clarke’s, but when he looks to the woman holding it she’s looking at him with a combination of surprise and something like a question. Is _he okay?_

_Echo._

Great and here comes the stabbing pain in his gut again, doesn’t he just love _that_.

He gives her a smile that’s not really a smile accompanied with a nod, that's _not really_ a nod, and holds eyes contact for as long as he can with all the led that's found a home in his stomach.

When he turns back to face the room he notices a pair of eyes on them, but by the time his eyes focus on her face she’s already looked away.

As if she never saw in the first place.

Before the feeling of complete discomfort can devour him entirely, Russel pipes up. 

‘I know you all are tired, and confused and probably extremely malnourished, but we’ve come here so that we can talk to you all. Safely.’ The man takes a breath. ‘We don’t know what your intentions are here but I truly believe that if you’rewilling to communicate with us, we’ll be able to be come to some sort of agreement.’

Nobody dares to speak up.

‘This is a peaceful society, we don’t _want_ trouble here. I know that may be hard to believe since we got you here by waving around these things’-. He flings the gun around, in front of himself. Its silver, and when the florescent lights catch on it, it shines into eyes. ‘But we’re- sorry, I’m blinding you.’ He puts it down onto the surface of a nearby table. 

‘We’re not planning on using them. Unless of course’-. He cocks his head to the side, scanning them all like they could be planning an immediate, synchronised attack on his people in their heads at this _very_ moment instead of thinking about how nice a cup of water would be right about _now._ ‘We have to.’

'Do not confuse our preference towards peace as an unwillingness for violence.' 

Bellamy’s not sure if he’d finished speaking. He hadn’t.

 ‘Right.’ He says again, clapping his hands together. It echos out through the building. When he says it he over pronounces the ’T’, as if it was it own word. ‘What brings you to our home?’

He looks at Clarke, just as she turns to him.

‘How much time do you have?’

 

 


	3. Never fallen from quite this high (falling into your ocean eyes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The silence was heavy in a way that it had never been around Clarke before. There was a weight to it that Bellamy could not efficiently put into words. They had been fine before, taking comfort he thinks, in the company of other people around them, but now it was just them. There was so much they should be talking about, neither of them sure when they’d get this opportunity to be alone together again, and yet no one had spoken up. 
> 
> Clarke tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth and avoided his eyes, and Bellamy dug his fingernails further into the bruise that was forming on his left palm, doing very much the same thing.
> 
> Bellamy and Clarke share an awkward moment alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Heres chapter Three! As always all the mistakes are my own because I don't pick up on things.

Clarke bites her lip when she’s nervous. Or maybe it’s _impatience_.

It’s a habit he’d never really picked up on before; Which is weird because he was fairly certain he knew all of her strange habits, so much so he could fill an encyclopaedia revolving around solely that area of his expertise, or a short ode creatively titled ‘Clarke Griffins strange quirks’ where he’d fluently list them all in alphabetical order.

In reflection, it’s weird how well he knows her, considering they were on the ground for not even an entire year, a definite majority of that time of which they had spent fighting. Or separated. Or on the, not as rare as he’d had liked, occasion, both.

He knows all of her smiles, her frowns and at least, the bulk, of her defence mechanisms.

Or perhaps the correct term now was _knew_.

He used to pride himself of how well he knew his partner. How well he knew the girl he had called his best friend. But so much of who she was now felt frustratingly foreign and unfamiliar to him.

He hated that.

He hated how distant they’d become since they’d reunited. Hated how on guard he was around her now, afraid to slip up. And, most of all, hates how it seems she feels the same way. As they’ve been dancing on egg shells from the second they’d set eyes on each other, again. As if at any minute they could fall through.

He wants to know what would be there at the bottom if they _did_.

They’d been sitting in a quiet and fairly clinical looking room for the past several minutes (Bellamy’s fairly positive it’s the only room around these parts that’s completely devoid in colour), waiting for Russel to come back from wherever he’d taken the others, to help them get settled in.

Neither one of them had said a word to the other.

The silence was heavy in a way that it had never been around Clarke before. There was a weight to it that Bellamy could not efficiently put into words. They had been _fine_ before, taking comfort he thinks, in the company of other people around them, but now it was just _them_. There was so much they should be talking about, neither of them sure when they’d get this opportunity to be alone together again, and yet no one had spoken up.

Clarke tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth and avoided his eyes, and Bellamy dug his fingernails further into the bruise that was forming on his left palm, doing very much the same thing.

A few more, unbearable seconds passed, each of them feeling like minutes. Like time was warped in this little room they had discovered themselves in, and he found himself both wanting for Russel to come through that door any moment now, and wishing that he’d knew for certain he’d be longer so that he’d have time to actually talk to her.

Talk to her about the time they’d spent separated, how after they’d reunited he’d had no way of knowing that she ever thought about him or even missed him, if only a small percentage of how much he missed her, in that time, until he found out about the radio calls. Talk to her about the _radio calls_. Ever-present at the back of his mind.

Was Madi exaggerating about them? Had she been wrong? Had she been calling _all of them_? He’d barely processed any of it at all. That day (those years?) had gone by so fast; He preferred not to think about it.

Not to think about how they lost Monty and Harper, despite the fact that the living proof, that they were gone and that it all actually happened, in the form of their hundred year old son, was merely a few hallways away.

‘Do you think he’ll be much longer?’ Clarke’s the first one to break the silence, snapping him out of his revere, but even then it doesn’t feel like she really has. He guesses it’s their safest topic of conversation.

He clears his this throat a little.

‘I’m not sure,’ He looks towards the door. ‘He said the accommodation quarters weren’t that far away.’ And even as the words leave his mouth they taste like avoidance.

‘Yeah.’ Clarke says, and then it’s silent again. It’s driving him crazy. It’s just _Clarke_.

‘How are you feeling?’ He finally gathers the courage to look her in the eyes. They’re so blue he feels like he’s drowning in them. ‘This is just going to be an interrogation of sorts, if you’re tired I can take over. Get one of his crew to take you to the rooms with the others?’

‘I’m okay.’

‘Clarke’-. She doesn’t let him finish.

‘I’m okay, Bellamy. We’ve had the same amount of sleep. I should be asking you the same thing.’

He decides not to press on. Instead, when they’re at risk of it becoming quiet again, he changes the subject.

‘What do you think of this guy?’ At least it’s something.

‘I don’t know.’ She says, and he thinks that maybe that’s all she’s going to say before she adds, ‘kind of reminds me of a male Diyoza?’ She considers this for a second. ‘A friendly, pacifist, slightly more hygiene aware, version of a male Diyoza.’

He chuckles, the sound surprising him, it mostly comes from his nose.

‘Maybe they’d be friends.’ He smiles at her. ‘Join forces together to create a whole ‘new and improved’ cult. Braid each others hair, discuss interrogation techniques. You know’-. He gestures with his hands. ‘Friend things.’

‘Wow,’ she exclaims. ‘I don’t remember us ever braiding one another’s hair?’ She’s smiling too, now. It hadn’t felt this easy around her since that day back in the lab. Before he’d left her behind to die in a wave of fire, of course. ‘I feel like we truly missed out on some of the sheer virtues a friendship could bring.’

‘Maybe we just weren’t good enough friends.’

He’s joking. He says it as a joke. But the second the words leave his mouth we wishes he could grab them and force them back in. Shove them deep down and into his trachea.

Her smile drops slightly, eyes doing that Blink-y, reevaluating thing they do.

She looks away and to the wall in front of them.

‘Yeah,’ this time when she smiles, it's sad. ‘Maybe.’

‘Wait, no. Clarke,’ he scrambles over his words, ‘I didn’t mean’-

‘No, its okay. I get what you mean Bellamy.’ She dismisses him, shaking it off with a less than convincing grin and a shake of her head.

‘No, you don’t.’ He’s almost fully facing her now. She’s staring at her hands as if they’re the most interesting things she’s ever seen. ‘I was just joking you know I’- His voice catches, and then suddenly, she’s looking back at him. It catches him off guard. So, so blue. ‘I mean, _we_ ’- they’re closer than he remembers them sitting.

He swallows.

‘Um’-

Before he can get another word out, intelligent sounding or not, the door opposite the table they’re sat at swings open and Russel appears from the other side of it with a introductory ‘Sorry I took so long.’

The both of them spring back to their original positions in their chairs as if they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t be.

 _God dammit_.

Russel eyes them both suspiciously.

‘Am I interrupting anything here?

Clarke’s the one that speaks.

‘Nothing at all. We were just talking.’ It’s a perfectly dignified and fundamentally truthful response. So Bellamy has really no idea whatsoever why it stings him to hear it.

The leader studies them suspiciously but seemingly decides not to pry any further. He pulls a chair out from underneath the other side of the table and promptly positions himself onto it.

‘So,’ He puts his forearms on the table, comfortable. Confident in himself. ‘You’re not from around here huh?’

‘We’re from Earth.’ Bellamy croaks. Why is his voice so _strained_? He clears his throat, leaning forward in his chair. ‘It’s gone.’

Russel takes a deep breathe in and now he was doing that weird Blinky eye thing. Crap _okay_ , maybe he shouldn’t have been so blunt about the matter. His brainfelt a little foggy.

Clarke’s looking at him. In his head he can hear her recite the words ‘ _be diplomatic, idiot_ ’ to him.

She takes over from him. It’s probably for the best, he’s not thinking straight. Get a _grip_.

‘Why don’t we start from the beginning.’

-

 

Almost an hour later, they’d laid out a pretty detailed review of the past two hundred-odd years. Russel had taken notes. Asked questions. Bellamy didn’t see why that was necessary. There wasn’t going to be a _quiz_.

When he was sure they were finished he put down the pen and sheet of paper he’d insisted on go getting after the first couple of minutes.

‘So, how many more of you are left on the ship?’ It was a detail Bellamy thought maybe they should have left out. This guy didn’t seem like he was going to try and attack them, but bringing down the rest of their people was still too big of a risk, until they knew more about where they’d found themselves, and _who_ they’d found themselves with.

Clarke didn’t seem half as worried.

‘Roughly four hundred.’

‘And this includes the grounder crew?’

She nods.

‘If we come to an agreement we’ll ensure that they are no trouble to you or to your people.’ Her voice sounds calm and composed, as if doing so would be no trouble at all, and not be a giant pain in their collective asses.

 _‘We’ll_?’ He emphasises. ‘As in the two of you?’

They both nod, brows similarly furrowed, curious as to where he’s going with this. Did he not think of them fit to lead?

‘How are two kids as young as you supposed to lead a group of people that vast?’

‘We’re a hundred and fifty years old.’ It’s slips out without him thinking about it. He can see his partner smile at him out of the corner of his eye.

‘A technicality’- The man brushes the comment off.

‘We’ve been doing it most of our lives.’ Its Clarke’s turn to argue. ‘At this point-’ She takes a breath in, tired. ‘Its all we know.’

It’s times like this that Bellamy had wishes that he and Clarke had existed in another era. One where the most stressful thing they’d have to deal with was end of term exams, or whether or not the could afford to order food to be delivered and pay their rent. One where they’d go to school, get an education, find a job that they’d enjoy. And not one where they’d have to make life or death decisions on the daily. Sometimes on the hourly.

‘The both of you?’ Russel enquires. Eyebrows raised as if the notion of it alone was ridiculous or completely unheard of.

‘Yes. The both of us.’

‘Together?’

Bellamy snorts, it’s a strange sound. When he looks at Clarke her eyes are already on his. She’s struggling to contain a smile, the apples of her cheeks glowing a faint pink. She looks to the man in front of them.

‘Yes.’ She confirms. ‘Together.’

 

-

Once they’re done they’re led down a hallway and to their room, a large space containing around twenty cots in total, lining the walls on both sides. Only four of them occupied.

The couples were sharing.

A rush of heat devours him, and for a second he’s worried he’s about to enter a whole new world of awkwardness, not keen on a repeat of the scene on the beach almost a week ago now, but when his eyes detect Echo, she’s already asleep. The cot next to her was empty.

 

When his gaze wanders over to Clarke again she gives him a tight, fleeting smile.

‘Good night, Bellamy.’ She picks the bed once over from the empty one near Echo. His girlfriend.

‘Good night, Clarke.’ He breathes out. And he climbs into the bed that’s in between both of the girls, removing his shoes and socks before he does so, he should put a plaster on the back of his foot. In the morning he could explain to Echo that she ‘just looked so tired’ and he didn’t ‘want to wake her’. She couldn’t think that was too unrealistic.

He lays on his back, staring up at the forest green painted ceiling. It reminds him of their first few weeks on Earth. He closes his eyes.

Before sleep catches up to him, the face of the girl resting next to him, pops into his head, on its own accord.

And it’s not the brunette’s.

-

 

 _He’s floating in an ocean, the colour of her eyes_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading if you've gotten this far! Might do a Clarke pov chapter next chapter if y'all are down for that? Have a good day!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘It’s just the two of us, again?’ Her words sounds strained, like the rest of her had woken up but had forgotten to relay that information to her voice box. She clears her throat. Licks her lips to dry them, and for a second she thinks he follows the movement with his eyes, but then he’s back to staring at the floor, elbows rested on his knee’s. 
> 
> Or, more awkwardness ensues in the mess hall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! All mistakes are my own because I'm illiterate and I tend to miss things. Enjoy!

_Clarkes_ POV

 

Before she even manages to open her eyes, she’s disorientated. The weight of her body, tucked into itself while she’s curled up on her side, is relying on something softer and significantly dryer than a forrest floor. More comfortable than the composite metal flooring that blankets the ship. There’s a material covering her, she feels the heat it brings with it right up to her shoulders, though it seems a bit redundant, the air around her face already feels warm. The item is just making her feel _sweaty_. 

It takes her a few seconds for her to piece together the fact that she’s now _awake_ , no longer swimming in the land of her subconscious, and a few more for her mind to catch up to where she is. 

She’s on the ground. 

The _other_ ground. 

She doesn’t want to open her eyes. 

Clarke wonders how long she’ll get away with just laying there until she has to get up, before the day officially starts, before she’s dragged away to engage in more talk of war, more passive aggressive interrogations with mysterious colourful men. She hadn’t been this comfortable in a long time, hadn’t felt this safe, as if in this little cocoon she’d created for herself out of fabric and sweat, she could hide herself from the world. From reality. As if it was just her, these sheets and the sound of her own heartbeat. 

If she were to lay still enough, keep her lids screwed shut tight enough, focus enough she could just about immerse herself in a reality in which she was somewhere else. Another world. As in _era_ , not another _planet_ , she was done with moving planets. 

If she concentrated hard enough she’d find herself under white cotton sheets, with the sun shining into her face, in from gaps in ornately decorated blinds. In this universe she wasn’t sweaty, she was _warm. Carefree_. 

In this universe she wasn’t just listening to one heartbeat. She was listening to _two_.

Here there was another body curled around her own, caressing her waist softy with the pads of their overworked fingers. The other one of their hands was tangled in the tips of her hair. She could almost feel it tickling the back of her neck. In this reality, that her sleep-ridden mind had creatively conjured up, that she was desperate not to leave, when her vision sharpened she was staring at large dark eyes. They turned gold in the morning light. She was studying a map of freckles, stretching across a large expanse of tan skin. She was lost in everything _Bellamy_.

Her eye lids fly open and suddenly she’s staring into a dimly lit room. _Dreaming about your best friend in an intimate scenario involving the two of you again, huh? That’s appropriate_. 

When the room comes into focus there’s the man himself, sitting on the side of his bed, looking at her. When she looks up at him he seems surprised she’s awake. There’s a shade of red colouring his face, just above the apples of his cheeks. He looks away and smiles. 

‘Good morning, sleeping beauty.’ He greets, he’s joking around but it still makes her feel a certain way. Like maybe she wants him to say it again. 

She begins to sit herself up in the bed, wondering how much of a mess she looked like at this current moment in time. Her breath tasted bad, _stale_ almost. She hopes he won’t notice from all the way over there. 

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t just’- he shakes his head, avoiding her eyes. ‘This seems a little creepy, I haven’t just been sitting here the whole time, I swear.’ 

She smiles, he’s frustratingly adorable when he’s nervous. _Adorable_. It’s was a word she never thought she’d come to think of in reference to Bellamy Blake. Brave, good, empathic, loyal to a fault, but _adorable_ was a new addition to the set of vocabulary she’d set aside solely to describe him.  
She flattens down her wild hair with the palm of her hand, and when she finally scans the room she comes quickly to the realisation that it’s just the two of them. Somehow that makes her more nervous. 

Why did she feel nervous so often around him, recently? Why did it always feel like they were on the edge of something? 

There’s a weird feeling in her stomach and she holds it in, hoping it will soften it. It doesn’t.

‘It’s just the two of us, again?’ Her words sounds strained, like the rest of her had woken up but had forgotten to relay that information to her voice box. She clears her throat. Licks her lips to dry them, and for a second she thinks he follows the movement with his eyes, but then he’s back to staring at the floor, elbows rested on his knee’s. 

She thinks back to the time they’d spent together on the ship before they had woken the others up from cryo’. To that strange moment they’d shared in Monty and Harpers quarters. She blinks, trying to rid that memory from her mind. It’s not like it actually _meant_ anything. It’s not like anything _meant_ anything. He probably never noticed how it had felt like the air had changed around them for just that moment, the second her blue eyes hit his brown ones. Maybe she was the only one that felt like it had.

One of his hands itches the side of his face where, once a small stubble, had grown into fair sized mane of dark hair. She can’t decide wether she likes the new Bellamy’s look more or if she preferred the old ones. 

‘Yeah, the others woke up a bit earlier, went to go get some food from the mess hall.’ He played some more with the hair around his chin, she wondered if it was just to distract himself. ‘Russel said we should make ourselves comfortable.’ 

Clarke nods, not sure where to look. 

‘I didn’t want you to wake up alone and confused.’ 

Something warm rushes through her, like the first gulp of hot water long after reaching the stage of thirst, and when her eyes meet his, his are soft. 

‘Thank you.’ He’s still looking out for her. After everything she’s done to him in the past few weeks. For some reason, when she thinks about it in depth, she starts to feel a little sick. She makes a note to not to think about it. 

Bellamy nods at her, grinning. He pats his legs and pushes himself upon his feat. ‘Alright lets go get us some food.’

 

 

It doesn’t take them long to get to the mess hall, and when they finally reach the canteen it seems as if none of the others have noticed them, busy engaged in what looks like friendly chit chat session. That is until Jordan spots them lingering at the sidelines with their now food ridden trays, and beams up at them, he waves his hand in the air and beckons them over. 

‘Took you guys long enough,’ Miller greets them. ‘We were just about to head back.’ Bellamy takes a seat next to Echo and there’s a weird tension between them that she notes wasn’t there yesterday. She sits down opposite him, busying herself with the food she’d put on her plate. It wasn’t much, definitely in comparison to everybody else’s portions. She’d dished up few new potatoes, a small array of seasoned vegetables, a little puddle of gravy. 

She doesn’t know how to act around the group anymore, not after everything. So instead of attempting to engage in a conversation with the people she used to call her friends, she puts all her energy in submerging one of her buttered carrots into the gravy. Just before she begins to concentrate fully on the task she recognises that there’s a newfound silence that has settled down over them all, and when she looks up it’s as if there has been a spoken agreement between the lot of them to avoid her eye at all costs. It seems Bellamy and Jordan are the only ones who missed the memo. 

‘You didn’t get enough to eat.’ It’s Bellamy’s voice that speaks to her. She’s not surprised, he’s looking at her tray as if it’s the biggest disappointment he’s ever seen.

‘Yeah, uh’- she stumbles around for an excuse. ‘I wasn’t that hungry.’ She lies. She’s starving, she’s pretty sure she could devour the whole catering service if she put enough heart in it. When Bellamy looks unconvinced she tries something with a little more truth to it. 

‘The people here work hard for their food, I just got here, I haven’t worked for it yet.’ She shakes her head and stares down at her carrot, cutting it into two as if it’ll give her more to eat. ‘I don’t want to take advantage of their hospitality, they need it more.’ She stops talking, done with explaining herself. 

She thinks the conversation is over until she sees a large hand slide a small desert plate of what looks to be a slice of freshly baked apple pie onto her tray. 

‘You’ll earn it when it comes down to it. You don’t have to prove yourself to anybody, Clarke.’ She feels the rest of the tables eyes on the two of them now, feels exposed in front of them, such a contrast to before. Bellamy’s saying the words to his plate as well, and she thinks she might just be the only one who can see how hard he’s trying to be casual about this. Protectiveness still leaks into everything he does till this day. ‘There’s plenty of food, and it’s gonna be a long day today, you should eat up.’ 

‘Bellamy, I think Clarke’s plenty capable of feeding herself without your help.’ It’s Echo, she’s studying the side of her boyfriends face with her eyebrows furrowed, there are harsh lines forming in her forehead. It seems like she’s reprimanding him in some sort of less than subtle manner. Clarke feels weird and uncomfortable in a way she can’t quite place. Bellamy looks at the girl next to him fleetingly, drawing a deep breathe into his lungs, like he regretted saying anything at all. 

‘Yeah well,’ He breathes out. ‘She’s stubborn.’

Clarke smiles at her food, feels the table shift forward into her chest slightly as Echo stands up. When Clarke looks up she’s just in time to see the brunette pick her tray up from the table, and address the group noncommittally . ‘Right, if anybody needs me I’ll be back in the room.’ She says and then she’s dropping off her tray at the kitchen and disappearing out of the door. Bellamy’s eyes follow her. He looks exhausted, as if they’ve done this, whatever _this_ is, before. Clarke hopes to god it’s something unrelated, not something to do with her. Suddenly the thought of it makes her not as hungry as she was the moment before. She stuffs the carrot into her mouth anyway, if only to give her something to do.

Emori stands as well, giving John a look. ‘I’m going with her.’ And then it's two down, six to go.

Bellamy frowns at his friend. ‘Trouble in paradise?’

Murphy sighs. ‘We broke up.’ He shrugs. ‘We’ll be back together by tomorrow.’ 

Bellamy breathes out a small laugh. 

Jordan doesn’t seem to notice the stiffness of it all. ‘Have you guys tried this _food_?’ His happiness is almost contagious, his complete lack of social awareness making her feel suddenly over-protective. Not even madi was this innocent when they had met. ‘I didn’t know food could taste this good.’ He shoves another mouthful into his gob, and when he talks next he’s careful not to let it all fall out. ‘Algae really sucks.’  
A smile escapes her. He’s so pure. Such a strong mix of the both of his parents. At least _something_ good came of it all. 

Bellamy nudges him with his elbow, and a bit of the boys gravy seeps down onto his chin. He wipes it with the sleeve of his battered old shirt and smiles up at him. ‘There is so much you’ve yet to learn, kid.’ 

‘So much I’ve yet to teach you.’ Murphy mumbles and both Bellamy and her give him a warning look. He raises his hands in the air in surrender. ‘Fine. _Fine_. I’ll be gentle with him.’

Clarke grabs the small plate, studying the dessert. It smells so good. Jordan’s right, this food really _was_ something else. She digests what is left of her main before wiping her knife clean on a napkin she had picked up, then spilts the slice into two, sliding her, smaller, half onto the clean side of her napkin. There’s a conversation starting back up now around her, and she’s grateful for it when she slides the plate back towards Bellamy. When he catches her eye he’s almost smirking and her heart speeds up. Everybody else around them is oblivious. He takes it, wordlessly, from her and slides it back onto his tray. He studies it, and then shrugs at her before sliding his fork through it and popping what’s on it into his mouth. It’s a compromise. 

She’s smiling as she does the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! How y'all doing? Sorry it's been a while, college has been kicking my ass, but it's finally half term so yay! Sorry this one is super short, and not my favourite. And that nothing really happens in it. I also think I may have switched tenses inadvertently so many times while writing this but I'm tired and my brain can't figure out how or where to fix it. Anyway- Hopefully the new upcoming chapters will be more exciting! sjsk. Sorry again! Hi!


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